


Playing Hooky

by Brenda



Series: Salt Life [2]
Category: Pacific Rim (2013)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Multi, Sibling Incest, Surfing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-16
Updated: 2014-02-16
Packaged: 2018-01-12 18:05:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,719
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1194498
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Brenda/pseuds/Brenda
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Yancy's of the firm belief that all mornings should begin with really great waves and truly great sex.  Luckily, he's got two guys in his life who completely agree with that sentiment.  Which means his life is just about perfect.</p><p>Present day AU where Chuck's a semi-retired champion surfer and Yancy and Raleigh run a bike shop in Newcastle, New South Wales, Australia.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Playing Hooky

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Pacific Rim Reverse Big Bang, based on **[this amazing art](http://rosalia-art.tumblr.com/post/76891850582/playing-hooky)** by [Rosalia-art](http://rosalia-art.tumblr.com). Please go give her all the love for her beautiful work and her great inspiration. 
> 
> All the thanks to Jo for co-creating this series, and for the betas.

These are the mornings Yancy loves best. Before the world's fully woken up, with the sun barely pushing its way above the horizon, turning the sky pale pink and yellow, casting a rainbow of shimmering light on the world below. When it's just him and Chuck and their boards and the never-ending blue of the Pacific Ocean before them, an eternal playground inviting them to come out and join in the fun. 

He straddles his Hustler and waits while Chuck takes the next swell, and indulges in his other favorite pastime (the first, obviously, being sex of any kind where he got to observe or participate) – watching Chuck in his natural element. Kid is a friggin' artist out there, using his board and body like a brush, painting the waves in strokes of brilliant, vibrant color, blending in so well with the water that he looks part sea nymph. Which is probably a crap metaphor or simile or whatever, but Yancy has never claimed to be a scholar. He doesn't need a fancy education to know that art is art, man, and he knows it when he sees it, and what Chuck does on a surfboard is transcendental. It is, without question, the closest Yancy gets to religion.

It doesn't hurt that he also gets the added bonus of seeing Chuck in nothing except low-riding board shorts, shirtless and wet and magnificently beautiful. Chuck, with his long, lean body and strong shoulders and powerful thighs, and that wide, dimpled smile that seems to light him up from the inside out, a rival to the sun for sheer radiance. Yancy's pretty sure he'd fallen for that smile first. Or it might have been the way Chuck had filled out a pair of jeans and a tank top, showcasing an unstoppable body that had made Yancy's palms itch with the need to explore. Or, most probably, some combination of the two. And that had been well before he'd gotten to see Chuck on a surfboard. 

And, sure, Yancy's seen Chuck in just about every variation of dressed and undressed and half-dressed there is under the sun since that first fateful meeting, but Yancy supposes it says something about him or about their relationship that Chuck can still make his heart stutter-stop even after three plus years of living together. The only other person who's ever had that effect on him (and uses it to his advantage all the time, the little shit) is his younger brother, Raleigh.

Chuck glides over the crest for an absurd length of time, one hand skimming the top of the water. He's so impossibly high up that he seems to become almost one with the sunrise, and Yancy's breath, as always, catches in his throat at the sight. It still amazes him sometimes – that he and Raleigh both had gone and fallen head over fucking heels in love with one of the best and most well-known surfers on the planet, one with a bewildering array of trophies and medals and ribbons to his name, and his own brand of boards and a clothing line and his own surf shop. Chuck Hansen is a legend and a household name – all at the tender age of 24. It's enough to make Yancy, only five years older, and co-owner of a motorcycle repair shop with Rals, feel like a slacker in comparison.

But then again, Yancy's never had much ambition beyond doing a job he loves (check), and being happy (definite check) and making sure Raleigh's happy (and again, check and mate).

Chuck spots him when he's finished, and he paddles his board over, light-red hair sticking to his head and glinting in the sun. Yancy'd never gone much for gingers (or guys, aside from Raleigh) before Chuck, either, but Chuck...well. He's the exception to just about every rule.

"Thought we were supposed to be out here getting some surfing in," Chuck calls, light and easy, the broad vowels of his native Australia thick on his tongue. "Seems to me like you've just been lazing about."

Yancy beckons Chuck closer with the crook of his finger. "I've gotten a few waves in. It's just more fun to watch you do your thing."

"Definitely a lazy bludger," Chuck says affectionately, and leans in, balancing himself on his board with one hand as he meets Yancy halfway for a soft kiss that tastes of brine. "Shoulda woken up Raleigh instead."

Yancy scoffs and splashes a small wave Chuck's way. "Please, we could both take turns blowing him and he'd still bitch about waking up before ten."

"And I do hate to waste good hummers."

"Exactly," Yancy says, bobbing and shifting with the small swell of the tide pushing them closer to the shore. "Think you've got some new freckles."

Chuck glances down at one shoulder, then the other. "Don't tell Rals, he'll just natter on about how I need to put sunblock on again so I don't ruin my sleeve."

"They are nice tats. Be a shame for them to fade," Yancy says, making a point of admiring the oceanic landscape inked along Chuck's right shoulder and down the length of his arm. Some of Newt's best work, if Yancy said so himself, which maybe, yeah, he's biased, but it's still stunning. Yancy honestly has no idea how Chuck had sat still long enough to get them done, seeing as how he vibrates with energy even in sleep.

"Don't you start," Chuck growls, and splashes water back Yancy's way. Sometimes, it's far too easy to wind him up.

"I thought you liked it when we ganged up on you."

"Only if there's sex involved."

Yancy laughs and starts to steer his board towards the beach. "Ready to head in?"

"Yeah, but you're in charge of waking up Rals' cranky arse this morning. I'm opening the shop today."

"Dez still in Sydney?" Dez – short for Debra – is one of Chuck's bewildering array of cousins (Yancy still swears Chuck's related to half of Australia or, at least, half of Newcastle), and manages Chuck's surf shop with him. Yancy's heard the rumors she could have gone pro herself, but had hated the travel, so the shop had been the perfect compromise. Especially since Chuck and Dez also offer lessons and classes, teaching the next generation of surfers the ins and outs of tides and winds and swells and everything else. Yancy's not really one for the more technical aspects of the sport. It's just a fun way to wake up every morning and get in some quality one-on-one time with his other favorite guy.

"Yeah, chaperoning Emma, Lord help them both." Chuck shrugs, but Yancy can hear the pride in his voice. His uncle Scott's oldest kid, Emma, had been determined to follow in her cousin Chuck's footsteps ever since before she could walk, to hear everyone tell it, and she'd finally convinced her dad and her uncle to sponsor her in her first big meet. 

"Still wish you'd gone to cheer her on?"

They wade to the shore and unhook their boards from their ankle tethers, then trudge their way up the sand and towards the house. There are a few more people out in the water now, taking advantage of the waves before heading in to work or class or wherever, and it's shaping up to be another blister of a day already. Yancy's just as glad he'll be indoors in the air conditioning. He's never regretted moving Down Under, but summers here are a lot different than when he and Rals were growing up in San Francisco.

"Yeah, a little, but she don't need me hovering about, stealing her spotlight and thunder and all," Chuck finally replies. "She's got enough to deal with being a Hansen, y'follow?"

"She can handle the pressure. She's a tough kid." Tough and stubborn, like her dad. Like Chuck's dad, Hercules, and Chuck himself, for that matter. Hell, every single member of the Hansen clan could give lessons on bullheadedness. And Emma, even at the tender age of 17, had already mastered that particular family trait. A trait she shared with her younger brother, Eddie, who, at 16, could teach classes on the subject.

"Yeah, but she gets that from her mum," Chuck laughs, and steps up to the wrap-around porch of the fixer-upper Yancy and Raleigh had bought when they'd first settled in Newcastle, long before they'd met Chuck. Although, in all honesty, the place hadn't truly felt like a _home_ until the day Chuck and Max, Chuck's awesome – and spectacularly lazy – French bulldog, had moved in and taken over the place. 

And, one day, hopefully before Yancy's an old man, they'll have the place all remodeled and finished up so he can enjoy the fruits of his labors.

Yancy tosses Chuck a towel and starts drying himself off with the other one. He'll need a shower before he heads into his shop, but this'll do for now, and he needs to get breakfast going before he even thinks about waking Raleigh up. His brother, normally about as easy-going and good-natured as it got, is Jekyll and Hyde when it comes to mornings. He tends to wake up pissy as fuck and starving even on the best of days. "Maybe, but you all encourage it."

"We're not the sort of family who takes kindly to no," Chuck replies, running his towel through his hair. "You should know that better than anyone."

"I'm pretty sure saying no to you was never an option," Yancy says, and presses a kiss to Chuck's shoulder as he walks past and heads into the cool interior of the house. Raleigh may be fascinated by Chuck's many and varied tattoos (which are gorgeous, and Yancy definitely appreciates them and how they look), but Yancy's a total sucker for the freckles. One of his favorite activities is laying Chuck out and counting every single one of them with his tongue, sometimes two or three times over. (Chuck's never complained. Magnanimous of him, honestly.)

"Speaking of," Chuck says, wrapping an arm around Yancy's waist and steering him towards the front bathroom, "wanna come scrub my back?"

Certain parts of Yancy's anatomy are making their presence – and enthusiasm for the change in plans – felt. "I thought you wanted me to get breakfast on and wake up Rals."

"And I do, but right now, I want my cock up your arse." Chuck leans in, bites at Yancy's jaw. "You up for a bit of morning buggery?"

It's amazing how Chuck manages to make even the tackiest come-ons sound so filthy hot, but Yancy's not about to complain. Especially not if he's about to get laid as a result. "Sure, if you think you're up for it."

"I'll show you up for it," Chuck says and all but shoves Yancy into the bathroom and kicks the door shut behind them.

***

Steam fills the room, turning the air into a thick sort of soup, and Yancy can't quite catch his breath, but breathing's overrated, and he's got more important things to do and much more important things to focus on. Like pushing back, meeting Chuck halfway as Chuck fills him again and again, his cock thick and hard and just this side of too fucking much. Like the way Chuck's teeth close around his nape, biting and marking him with every sure thrust, the way the moans and groans fill the miniscule space between and around them. Like the slippery feel of skin on skin, the scrape of Chuck's stubble, the hard press of Chuck's fingers digging into his sides.

Yancy braces one hand on the tile wall and drops the other to his own neglected, needy cock, and jerks himself off, timing the twist of his wrist with every snap of Chuck's hips, both of them settling into a hard, fast rhythm, just the way they like it. Yancy lets himself go, puts himself entirely in Chuck's hands, and gives in to the moment. Rides the waves of painful pleasure like he's still out on the Pacific, and empties his mind of everything that's not Chuck's cock inside him. He comes with Chuck's name on his lips, with Chuck's body draped over his as Chuck follows him a few strokes later, and when he tilts his head, they meet in a series of lazy kisses, the two of them coming down in slow degrees until the world comes back into focus.

Chuck rests his forehead between Yancy's shoulder blades and hums out a quiet laugh. "Now that's what I call a bloody perfect way to start to the morning."

Yancy slides his hand over Chuck's, laces their fingers together. "You saying fucking me is better than surfing now?"

"Definitely." Chuck kisses the back of Yancy's neck, then straightens, his now softened cock slipping out of Yancy's body. "But don't go spreading that around. Got me a rep to protect and a boatload of sponsors to keep fat and happy."

"Yeah, fuck forbid the surfing world and your adoring public ever find out that you like sex better than the waves," Yancy grins, and twists in Chuck's arms until they're face to face again. He thinks maybe he loves Chuck the most like this – all loose-limbed and flush-faced, smiling and relaxed, with those green eyes reflecting only happiness and the satisfaction of a really great orgasm.

"Not just sex, sex with you and Rals," Chuck corrects, with another kiss. "That's for sure better than surfing any day of the week. But I don't think you'd like me telling all the reporters and bloggers and whatnot how sweet your arse is when it's gripping my cock like a sheath..."

"I don't care what you tell anyone about my ass, but your dad might have a heart attack if you started spouting off about the good, x-rated shit in public." 

Yancy's not ashamed of anything he and Chuck and Raleigh do together – they're all adults, they're all consenting, and he hasn't given a fuck about what the rest of polite society might have to say about what he gets up to in the privacy of his own bedroom (or shower or living room or the office at either of the shops...) since the day his parents had died and left him and Rals all alone in the world, with only each other to lean on. Yeah, maybe most people wouldn't get the Becket version of brotherly love, but Yancy doesn't give two fucks about that, either. They'd never needed anyone else until the day Chuck had strolled into their shop looking to get his bike fixed and turned everything inside-out and right-side up, and completed them in ways they'd never even anticipated.

What the three of them've got is way too rare and precious for Yancy to worry about how anyone else sees it. All he knows – all that matters – is they're together and they make it work.

"I think my old man's got enough to worry about these days," Chuck says, and shuts off the water. He hands Yancy a towel. "Don't think I've told you the latest yet, have I."

"If you tell me Mako's resorted to parading around the office in a garter and stockings, I'm going to need to see visual proof of this. Purely for research purposes," Yancy grins, drying himself off in quick, economical movements. All mornings should begin with sunshine and hot sex. Maybe the world would be a better place if everyone got laid more and got outside more.

Chuck makes a face. "Don't. She might get it in her head to try that next."

"Hey, whatever works." Mako Mori, one of Chuck's oldest childhood friends, and daughter of one of Herc's best friends, and a total stunner, seriously, she was like every fantasy men ever had about Hot Asian Chicks (which maybe sounded sorta kinda sexist or, at least, not really PC, but whatever, any remotely straight or straight-ish guy that claimed he'd never beat off at least once to the image or idea of a beautiful Japanese girl in a schoolgirl outfit was probably just lying to themselves), had been trying, without much success, to get in Herc's pants. Well, Mako would probably phrase it differently, but Yancy calls 'em like he sees 'em. And it's something Yancy highly approves of – as far as Yancy's been able to figure, his de facto father-in-law hadn't had a proper sex partner of any kind the entire time Yancy and Raleigh had been involved with Chuck. Yancy's not even sure he's even had a real date.

Which basically means, in plain English, that Hercules Hansen needs to get laid in the worst way. And not just because he's always glowering at Yancy and Raleigh like he's blaming them personally for corrupting his only kid (if only Herc knew how much Chuck's been corrupting _them_ , Yancy thinks, he'd probably die of a brain aneurysm), but also because Yancy likes Mako a lot as a person and friend and wants her to be happy. And, for whatever crazy reason, Mako thinks bouncing on Herc's dick'll do it.

Well, maybe Yancy can sort of see the appeal – Herc's got the whole rugged, sexy thing going for him (and if Chuck's even half as hot as his dad when he gets to be that age, Yancy's not sure how he'll survive it) – but getting past the surliness would be an issue for anyone.

Chuck pokes Yancy's chest. "Not helping, mate. And no putting a bug in her ear about it."

"Wouldn't dream of it," Yancy grins. "So, what is she doing, since sexy lingerie is out?"

"She's been conspiring with Uncle Scott on a strategy."

"Nothing like a sledgehammer when a feather'll do."

"Yeah, I haven't got the foggiest what she's thinking, either," Chuck says, wrapping his towel around his waist and stepping out of the bathroom. Yancy tugs his own towel around his hips and follows Chuck into the kitchen. It's well past time for coffee.

"Maybe she promised to put in a good word for Scott to her dad if Scott helped her out with his brother," Yancy muses, which, hey, makes sense to him. One good turn deserving another and all. 

Chuck harrumphs. "C'mon, we both know Stacks would have thrown Uncle Scott down and buggered his brains out an age ago if Scott wasn't such a cum junkie. I mean, he's family, but discretion's not his strong suit."

Yancy quickly gets the coffee maker going, and leans against the counter. "I don't think it's your uncle fucking everything that moves that's the problem. Stacker's not a prude like that, you know? I just think he likes the idea of making Scott work for it."

"Yeah, you might be onto something. Stacks does seem the type to string a person along just because he can. Lucky for him he's sex on a stick and can get away with it." Chuck's phone buzzes twice in quick succession and he scoops it up off the counter. "Holy shit," he says, staring at the screen.

"Good holy shit or bad holy shit?"

"Emma made it past first round. Uncle Scott and Dez both just texted." Chuck looks up, and Yancy wishes he had his own phone near him to take a pic, because the look on Chuck's face is priceless. It's equal parts proud and wistful and loving and every inch the adoring older cousin. (Well, more like an adoring older brother, seeing as how close in age the two of them are, but that's arguing semantics, and Chuck's close to everyone in his family.)

And, looking at him, _knowing_ him the way Yancy does, the next words out of his mouth come easy. "C'mon. Let's wake my useless brother up and close the shops for the day and head down to Sydney."

Chuck blinks, slow and exaggerated, like he's a cartoon character. "Come again?"

"You know you want to be there when she goes up in the second round. Hell, I want to cheer her on, and we both know Rals adores her. Let's just hop in the car and surprise her."

Chuck blinks again, but doesn't move otherwise. Still, Yancy can see how much he wants this. "You're serious? _You_ , of all people, want to skiv off work to drive down to a surfing event?" 

"I'm not saying I'm down with closing the shops on a whim, but this is important. It's her first meet. You should be there."

Chuck smiles, wide and big and so bright it could rival an entire galaxy of stars. "I love you, yeah."

"I know." Yancy pulls Chuck to him, gives him a teasing kiss. "You go wake up Grumpy. I'll get breakfast started."

"Yeah, alright."

***

"Shotgun," Raleigh mumbles, around a mouthful of bagel, as he pulls his beat up Red Sox cap lower on his head, hiding a mop of hair that's a few shades lighter than Yancy's own strawberry-blond. He's wearing one of the shop t-shirts and worn, frayed to hell cut-offs but both look clean enough, so Yancy doesn't say anything. He supposes it's enough of a miracle that Raleigh is upright this early in the morning.

"Absolutely not, you're riding in the back."

Raleigh frowns. "But I called shotgun."

"I'm not having you snoring next to me while I'm trying to drive," Yancy says, flicking the bill of Raleigh's hat. The Red Sox, really, Yancy's not sure where Raleigh gets it. Probably just a rebellion against growing up in a family of San Francisco Giants fans (which are clearly the superior team in the superior league, the _real_ league, where pitchers still hit for themselves, but whatever, Raleigh's entitled to be as wrong as he wants to be.) "Besides, if you're in the back, you can stretch out when you fall back asleep."

"Who said I was going back to sleep?"

"Rals, I love you, mate, but you nod off after we've been in a car for five minutes," Chuck says, patting Raleigh on the back as he steps past him towards the car, cradling the handles of his and Yancy's to-go coffee mugs in one hand. "No way you're staying upright for a two hour ride."

Raleigh juts out a belligerent chin. "I might."

Yancy just points to the back seat. It's way too early to get into a pissing contest, especially over something this stupid. "C'mon, we're wasting daylight here."

Raleigh grumbles, and gives Yancy and Chuck another glare, but climbs in the back, and makes a point of stretching himself out, as Chuck and Yancy take the front. "Who's coming over to watch Max?"

Chuck slouches in his seat and cradles his travel mug in his hands. "Dad's dropping by at lunch to get him."

Yancy heads for Harbor Bridge, and glances at his brother in the rearview mirror. "Speaking of Herc, Rals, did Chuck tell you the latest news?"

Raleigh looks up from his own coffee, his blue eyes – the exact same shade as Yancy's – widening in interest. "Don't tell me Mako finally jumped him and finally put him out of his monk-like misery?"

"Nothing quite so subtle. She's pulled Uncle Scott in as a conspirator."

"Wow, nothing like using a bazooka to kill a fly," Raleigh muses, shaking his head.

"Pretty much what I said," Yancy agrees. 

Chuck twists in his seat, gives Raleigh a dimpled smile that Yancy immediately distrusts. "Y'should have a chat with him."

"With your dad? About Mako?" Raleigh sounds like he can't quite believe what he's hearing. Yancy doesn't blame him. He wonders if Chuck had put something a little extra in his coffee this morning. Yeah, Mako and Raleigh had become fast friends since Chuck had introduced them, but the idea of Raleigh taking up her (admittedly really great) cause to the man who, even after three years of Chuck living with them in domestic bliss and shit, still refers to Raleigh and Yancy as "those Becket blokes", just sounds like a recipe for disaster.

"Nah, not him, Uncle Scott. He listens to you. Maybe you could convince him to go for a restrained approach with my old man."

"Yeah, no, I'm pretty sure _restrained_ is not a word anyone with the last name of Hansen knows the meaning of," Raleigh says, and Yancy doesn't need to look his brother's way to know he's grinning that shit-eating grin of his.

"Fuck off, I can be plenty restrained."

"Since when?"

Chuck twists back and gives Yancy a full-on glare. "Since whenever I fucking well feel like."

"Oh, well, I guess you told me."

"Arse," Chuck mumbles, and picks up his mug again. His next sip is deliberately noisy. Yancy makes just as much of a point of ignoring it.

"Speaking of restraint and all, how much sex did you have to bribe my dear brother with in order to get him to agree to this?" Raleigh asks, around a massive yawn. Yancy figures they've got him for another ten minutes, tops, before he's passed out cold and snoring up a storm. 

"Didn't have to bribe him with anything. It was his suggestion."

"Wait, really?" Raleigh's eyes widen. "Who are you and what have you done with Yancy Becket?"

"I just thought we should be there for her," Yancy shrugs. He knows it's out of character. But what's the point in being the oldest and the responsible one if you can't occasionally shock the shit out of everyone. "Chuck especially."

"Well, fuck me stupid, will wonders never cease."

"Yeah, pretty sure I don't need to fuck you for that," Chuck laughs, and it only gets louder when Raleigh kicks at his seat. 

Half the time Yancy's not sure if he and Raleigh've gained a lover or another brother. Half the time, he's not sure Chuck knows, either.

***

Chuck's tapping his fingers against his knee to the catchy beat of the pop song on the radio (turned up to drown out Raleigh's snores) and looking out the window. Yancy knows he should be paying total attention to the road, but, well, there's not a lot going on traffic-wise this early, and sneaking glances Chuck's way is a good enough way to pass the time. It beats watching Raleigh drool on his shirt.

He loves his brother, truly and deeply, but he's the worst sleeper ever. Most mornings, Yancy wakes up with a slimy shoulder, courtesy of Raleigh slobbering on him in the night. Although, in the interest of fairness, Rals would be the first one to point out that at least he doesn't fart in his sleep, unlike _someone_ he could name who may or may not be his pig of an older brother (Yancy has no idea if it's true or not, and Chuck, ever the diplomat most times, refuses to take sides.) Chuck, for his part, just steals all the blankets in the middle of the night, and wakes up most mornings wrapped up like a burrito, then complains about sweating to death.

"Penny for your thoughts."

Chuck hmmms quietly and runs a light touch along Yancy's arm. "Not even worth the copper they're minted on, mate. Just drifting, mostly."

"You nervous?"

"About Emma?" Chuck shakes his head. "Nah, she's a natural out there. Got a good head on her, reads the waves as well as anybody. Probably wind up being better'n me when all's said and done."

"High praise."

"You've seen her in the water. Reckon she was born half-dolphin or mermaid."

"Maybe, but she's still got big shoes to fill to come close to all you've accomplished," Yancy says. "And you know, if you ever decided you wanted to do the tour circuit again, Rals and I have your back."

"Nah, I'm done with all that ruck. Got me a good thing going with the shop and giving lessons and such, proven all I need to in the swell," Chuck smiles, and half-turns in his seat so he can give Raleigh a fond look. "M'not saying I'm done with the competitions altogether, but I figure I'm good with staying in the Pacific. 'Sides, Max would miss me too much if I was chasing waves in North and South America."

"Just Max?"

"Yeah, I mean, you and Rals have each other, see, but poor Max, he hasn't got anyone to keep him company and snuggle with at night."

"Fuck me, I knew you were gonna want another dog the second we saw your Uncle Rusty's pups the other week," Yancy sighs, already knowing how this conversation will end. "Which one did you pick?"

"Who says I picked out any of 'em?"

"C'mon, just tell me. I bet you and Raleigh've picked out a name and everything." Because, as sure as death and taxes and that the Dodgers suck balls, he knows his brother's in on whatever's going on. Rals and Chuck tend to conspire on most things.

Chuck sighs, but smiles, so Yancy knows he's right. "Alright, maybe we picked out the black and white one, the one with the really floppy ears. And yeah, fine, maybe we named her."

"Please tell me it's not Maxine."

Chuck balls his fist and punches Yancy's arm. "Punter, I've got _some_ imagination, I'll have you know. We named her Molly."

Yancy could make so many jokes right now about surfers and stoners, but he would like to get laid again at some point this week, and Chuck can hold a grudge with the best of them, so he just nods. "Yeah, fine, I guess Max is getting a younger sister."

Chuck reaches back and hits Raleigh on the leg, not even remotely trying to pull the slap, either. "Oi, up you get, you owe me a hummer."

"Wh'huzzat?" Raleigh mumbles, then jerks up, wiping the drool off his chin with the back of his hand. His eyes are glassy and heavy-lidded. "What?"

"You bet on whether I'd say yes?" Yancy asks, on a laugh. Somehow, however, he's not surprised.

"I didn't, your brother did," Chuck grins. "I had total faith in you."

"Wait, what're we…" Raleigh's jaw cracks when he yawns, as he takes off his hat and runs his fingers through his hair and blinks. "What the fuck are you guys talking about?"

"Molly," Chuck tells him.

"Who's...oh, wait, huh? You told him about Molly?"

"Considering she's coming to live with us, I figure I'd have found out sooner or later, bro."

"Yeah, I know, I just..." Raleigh scrubs a hand over his face. "Can we back up here?"

Chuck and Yancy exchange an amused look, then Chuck unbuckles his seat belt and scrambles into the back with Raleigh, settling next to him. "I told him about Molly and he was 100% cool with it, which means you owe me a hummer, so get to it."

"Right _now_?" Raleigh yelps, like he's not the most filthy and perverted of the three of them by a country mile.

"Yeah, why not? Not like either of us are driving and we've got a bit before we get to Sydney."

"Uh, Yance, a little help here."

And yeah, Yancy knows he should put an end to this and tell Chuck to save it for later, but fuck it, maybe today's a good day for letting loose after all, because he just chuckles and keeps a nice, relaxed grip on the steering wheel. "A bet's a bet, Rals, and you lost, so I'd say you should pay the man."

"You...I mean...wait. Who _are_ you? For real, did someone swap you out with an alien or an android or something?"

"Maybe you should let him play chauffeur and watch the show," Chuck suggests, and, to prove his point, lifts his hips and shimmies out of his cargo shorts and underwear. A quick glance shows he's well on his way to ready for action. Raleigh's jaw drops, but Yancy can also tell he's also totally into the idea from the way his breath quickens. 

"I...I'm still asleep, aren't I?" Raleigh asks.

Chuck slouches and spreads his legs, then grabs his rapidly hardening cock by the base. "If you are, it's a damn good dream. You gonna let this go to waste or what?"

Raleigh swallows and shakes his head before sliding to his knees on the floorboard. Yancy obligingly moves his seat up so Raleigh'll have some more room. He's a giver like that. "If we get arrested..."

"We're not gonna get arrested," Chuck promises, "so put that mouth of yours to better use, yeah," and the next time Yancy looks in the rearview, Chuck's got his head thrown back and his hands are buried in Raleigh's hair and Raleigh's lips are stretched tight around his cock. Which is just about the most distracting sight ever, but Yancy manages to keep most of his focus on the road and not on the show in the back seat.

But Chuck and Raleigh are going to owe him _so_ big later tonight – he's talking laying back like a fucking king and them servicing the shit out of him big – and he is damn well going to collect.

***

Yancy and Raleigh and Chuck have only made it about ten steps onto the beach before he starts to hear the murmurs and sees the fingers pointing in their direction. Another few steps and the murmuring turns into a rising tide of noise, and just like that, the three of them are surrounded by an adoring throng of surfers and surfing enthusiasts eager to shake the hand of the great Chuck Hansen or to take pics with him or just catch a glimpse of him for themselves. Raleigh and Yancy exchange a resigned look when the requests for autographs and pictures start coming, and Chuck slows his steps to accommodate everyone he can. 

"I am never going to get used to all this madness," Raleigh says to Yancy under his breath, the both of them hanging back, relegated to the background, and letting Chuck do his thing. "It's like being with a friggin' rock star."

"Well, he sort of is in these circles," Yancy says, keeping a weather eye on Chuck as the crowd gets even bigger. Bikini-clad beach bunnies clamor for Chuck's attention along with wetsuit clad surfers, all of them eager for a moment, a picture, a high five. "You remember what you were like when you met Jon Lester when he was out here vacationing with his family."

"Yeah, I guess. But I'm not fucking Jon Lester."

"Yeah, but you wouldn't have turned him down if he'd asked."

"Fuck no, he's hot and has two World Series rings," Raleigh grins. "Besides, you know you'd go to your knees for Buster Posey."

"Nah, not my type. You know the only two guys I get hard for are you and Chuck."

Raleigh nudges his shoulder. "Careful, bro, that was almost sweet."

Just then a slender girl in a slick neon-green wetsuit with a shock of bright red hair pushes her way to the front and stops in front of Chuck. "You fucking _punter_ , I can't believe you're here."

Chuck spreads his arms wide and catches Emma in mid-air when she launches herself into his arms. "Good to see you too, cuz," he says, pressing a kiss to her hair as he holds her close.

Scott Hansen, hot on his daughter's heels, strides over and comes to stand beside Yancy and Raleigh. He's got a Newcastle Falcons ball cap pulled low on his head, covering hair that's only a few shades lighter than Emma's, and his fair skin is covered with a t-shirt and cargo shorts, but there's no disguising the rangy build and that blinding Hansen grin. "Had a feeling you boys would show up."

"It was a good day for a drive," Yancy grins, accepting the one-armed hug and returning it. He doesn't mind admitting that Scott's his favorite Hansen (after Chuck, of course.) "Good to see you."

Emma peels herself from Chuck's embrace and then punches him square in the chest. "I can't believe you didn't tell me you were coming."

"Ow." Chuck rubs the spot, then hauls Emma to his side. "C'mon, y'really think I wouldn't come cheer on my favorite cousin?"

"Don't listen to him, it was Yancy's idea," Raleigh says, rocking back on his heels. "Chuckie here didn't want to steal your spotlight."

"Long as he doesn't strap on a board, I think we're alright," Scott says, eyeing the now dwindling groupies around them, who have all thankfully seem to have gotten the message that Chuck's busy. "Who's watching the shop?"

"No one, shut it for the day," Chuck replies. "Benefits of being the owner." Then he looks around. "Speaking of, where's Eddie and Dez?"

"Eddie had a big maths test today he couldn't wiggle out of," Scott says. "He and Issy are driving down tomorrow if she makes it to the final round." (Issy – short for Isabel, because the Aussies never met a nickname they didn't like, is Scott's ex-wife and Emma and Eddie's mom. She's also, in Yancy's opinion, a saint for not only doing a bang up job of raising two of the most willful kids ever, but also in still getting on with Scott and the rest of his crazy family.)

"Which, duh, I will," Emma states, all eye rolls and youthful confidence. "And Dezzie's off having herself a bit of a flirt with one of the blokes in the longboard competition."

"Can't say as I blame her, either, he's a stunner," Scott replies.

"Ew, Dad, c'mon," Emma says, making a pained face. "He's at least fifteen years younger than you."

Scott shrugs, but Yancy can see the devious smile on his lips. "That's still legal from where I'm standing."

"No traumatizing my girl before her next round," Chuck states, and turns, wrapping an arm around Emma's waist as they make their way towards the pavilion housing the contestants' area. "Heard you killed it this morning."

"Shoulda seen the wave, it was a real beaut," Scott says, falling into step with Yancy and Raleigh as they follow Chuck and Emma. "Rode it almost to the shore, pretty as you please."

Yancy smiles at the pride in his voice. "Praise like that, we expect her to place."

Emma whirls around, starts walking backwards as she gives Yancy an imperious look that wouldn't look out of place on a queen. "Bugger that, I'm winning the damn thing."

" _That's_ my girl," Chuck declares. "No point in entering if it's not to win."

"Exactly," she nods, the swagger clear in her voice.

"I can already tell we're gonna need another shelf in your shop for all of her trophies," Raleigh remarks to Chuck.

"We're gonna need another room," Emma promises, with the fervor of youthful arrogance. 

"And that's exactly the spirit," Scott says. "Now, c'mon, let's go find your cousin before she runs off with the competition."

"Yeah yeah." Then she glances at Chuck from beneath her lashes. "So, old man, feel up for a race?"

"Sure, just let me – go!" Chuck says, and takes off down the beach, kicking up a crazy amount of sand.

"You little shit!" Emma yells, and starts off after him, long legs eating the distance between them.

"Is everything a competition with those two?" Raleigh asks, watching them with a fond look on his face.

"Yeah, even since they were tots," Scott replies. He claps Raleigh on the back, gives Yancy another blinding smile. "Thank you. Means a lot to her that Chuck's here."

"It was a no-brainer," Yancy replies, returning the smile. "Family's everything."

"Yes, it is," Scott agrees, then glances at Yancy, then Raleigh. "And since we're on the subject, what's this I hear about my big brother and Mako knocking boots?"

Raleigh groans. "Oh, man, we _really_ need to talk about that..." 

Yancy lets his brother take the lead, and tilts his face up to the sun, soaking in the rays and the warmth. Not even noon and already it's a perfect day. With any luck, they can see Emma crush it in the second round and then find a beachside hotel nearby with a great big bed and a late check-out. 

After all, Raleigh and Chuck, whether they know it or not, do owe him all of the sex ever for his amazingly brilliant idea.

***


End file.
